


Sins Behind Ice

by JinxxTheInsomniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: But oh man is he cute, F/M, For a Friend, Only Cthulhu can spare me now, Oswald is a bit of a creep, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Iceberg Lounge has been traumatized, Whoopsie doo, here comes the goo, no one is safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxxTheInsomniac/pseuds/JinxxTheInsomniac
Summary: This was a gift for a friend after she wrote me a Kilgrave/me fic (What can i say, David Tennant played a very believable weirdo).Anywhoosles, hopefully yall enjoy.I'll see you all in hell.





	Sins Behind Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frostyunicorn300](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostyunicorn300/gifts).



The Iceberg Lounge had finally opened.

Oswald Cobblepot, the proud owner, had struggled his way to the top, and as a reward, had inherited the late Fish Mooney’s club. She had always manipulated and demeaned him, so in exchange, he’d destroyed any recognition of her namesake within Gotham’s boundaries. And to add insult to injury, he’d fired all of her former staff, and had all new employees catering to his every whim; exactly how she would demand to be treated. The narcissistic bitch… He thought, his mind rejecting the slightest image of her scowling, ebony complexion.

The only one whom Oswald allowed to frequent the newly-managed club, who also had worked for Fish in the past, was Butch. But Oswald had other reasons for keeping him around. 

 

Hiring new staff was tricky due to the fact that so many could easily have been hired by his enemies to go in and exploit Oswald’s weaknesses while under the guise of a meager waiter or host of some kind. Thankfully, Victor Zsasz provided a wonderful solution to that small detail; his sadism knowing no boundaries when it came to torturing worthy victims. He had a street record, and from the moment the eerie, ever-watchful figure even revealed the alabaster knives at his belt, the double-agents and thieves were akin to frightened children cowering at the mere mention of discipline. 

That was all it took for Victor to become the Bouncer; standing by the door and simply admiring his knives in the presence of the other patrons. The wordless threat was the only thing necessary to control the more unruly audience members. 

But those who Victor allowed to enter, who were viewed merely as innocent until proven guilty, were greeted warmly by the designated Hostess. 

 

Her name was Cayla, and Oswald, from the moment she’d walked through the entrance of the Lounge, was intrigued. 

Unlike many Gotham girls who had crossed Oswald’s pathway, this girl was different, somehow. For starters, she was quite shy; fidgeting and fumbling as she replied worriedly to each question he offered during the interviewing process. Upon her arrival, it’d been his belief that she would be over-confident, or even, narcissistic. The way she carried herself had an air of stubborn determination and should’ve been able to snuff out any cruel comment directed at her. So why was she so… fearful? 

Yet to go on with her particular appearance, which had been the primary factor in Oswald’s false predictions, Cayla was pale as the moon, if not paler, and she had curves that could easily cause any man’s jaw to drop. Her hair was wavy, dyed a tinted honey-red, and hung in loose, tousled ringlets past her shoulders. 

But that wasn’t what first drew Oswald to her. 

It’d been her jaded eyes which were all the more alluring as he peered into them. Like a Siren’s beckon, the Iceberg’s owner oftentimes had to avoid her gaze altogether, or risk succumbing to her spell and making a fool of himself. 

Her aspiration was to leave that place with the guarantee of a job within the lavishly adorned Iceberg Lounge. Hoping for a lesser job, far away from larger crowds, Cayla aspired to hide away in the kitchens with the other staff, explaining that she felt extremely overwhelmed amidst large groups of people. 

But the King of Gotham brushed aside her inhibitions, knowing that the timid thing didn’t belong hunched over a pile of porcelain dishes and silverware; she needed to be near him. He needed to ensure her safety. 

Thus, ‘Hostess’ seemed the best fit. 

She had been nervous and reluctant of even getting the job as a greeter, rather than a wallflower, but when Oswald had eagerly stated that she would be the perfect fit, she appeared to relax a little. 

Regardless of her choice in the matter, he couldn’t let her go and never come back. He now had a new mission on his mind. No more would he hunt and pursue Fish; not now that he’d caught a Mermaid.

 

*****

 

Some months later, and the once dreary business Mooney had run was now quite the public spectacle, and always abuzz with new patrons; from upper to middle-lower class. No one held any discrimination.  

Oswald and Cayla had formed something more in-depth, more personal, than a mere business-style level of companionship. The Lounge-Owner was grateful that the younger girl didn’t appear to have any objections or reserve in regards to how their relationship had spiraled; in fact, it appeared she loved his modest doting. 

From the occasional flirty exchange to a fleeting string of words intended to be rather vulgar. He played right along with her, and she played back. There wasn’t anything wrong with two adults bantering and being playful. After all, Cayla could think for herself, could she not?

But to make matters worse on his end, he’d often referred to her as ‘His Little Puffin’, as she was at least a head shorter than he was, even with heels giving her an extra inch or two. Despite her objections, he almost always would comment on her limited height, teasing her despite him also being rather short in comparison to others. 

 

****** 

 

It was Friday eve; one of the busier nights of the lounge. Oswald by now had resigned to deciding, each night, the color coordinations his employees who’d ultimately face the scrutiny of his patrons. He had to ensure that everything was simultaneous and pleasing to the eye and that not one error stood out. 

When the wardrobe choices for that particular night had been decided (deep crimson along with black; traditional, sensual, and easy), he turned to the catalog of wardrobe choices designated for Cayla, specifically, in mind. 

Of course, being extremely subconscious and insecure about her curves, she had declined his decisions, after the first couple weeks of her employment, opting for what she referred to as ‘comfortable, clothes’.  He was intrigued by the prospect of such a stubborn girl being uncomfortable in anything. After all, she’d walked with an air of indifference and maturity from the moment he saw her at the Lounge. 

At first, he was compliant, as her personal choices went along with the color requirements, but over time he grew impatient with her testing his superiority.   This was among the few times where he had to enforce his supremacy and demanded that she comply, or risk losing her job. 

So, for tonight, Cayla would wear a knee-length satin gown, tinted a lavish crimson and a bunched skirt. The neckline was wide, with sleeves which bunched at the elbows. It’d be perfect for her, he mused as his lip grazed the very tip of his finger. Sinful thoughts about the younger girl began to plague his mind, one prominent desire standing out amidst all the others. 

If only he’d be able to know the satisfaction of ripping the red satin from her alabaster flesh.    

\--No… He needed to compose himself. The Lord only knew just how immoral his chaste thoughts were. He would need to suppress them all the more. 

Yet deep down, Oswald knew that it was only a matter of time before thoughts would lead to actions, and actions would lead to regrets. 

 

“How’re we doing, Puffin?” He asked, his voice merry and cheerful as he strolled towards Cayla, his leisure relaxedness bringing a rush of relaxedness to the small girl. He was wearing a full three-piece tux, freshly polished shoes, and a cane of identical shine to his footwear.  

Oswald was the picture of traditional class, and Cayla could write sonnets about just how magnificent he looked; anyone else would’ve looked like an imbecile. 

“It’s a full house, tonight, sir!” She replied eagerly, holding up the map of various sitting areas and tables. Sure enough, there were a fleeting two or three seats still available throughout the Lounge. Oswald moved to stand just beside her, his palm briefly grazing the small of her back as he gave her a grateful pat. Cayla didn’t elude to it, but goosebumps momentarily danced over her skin, as if his touch was made of frost. 

“Excellent! It’s clearly your efforts which is giving us so much revenue. I appreciate it.” He exclaimed, allowing her to sip at the tall champagne glass wrapped gently around his other palm. At first, she attempted to decline the offer, but at his insistence, obliged. Oswald had to suppress the urge to stare as her thin, crimson lips wrapped around the edge of the thin glass.  

“Thank you, sir,” She replied, just as an applause echoed from the adjacent room, followed by the lights dimming. Soon there’d be a performance. Oswald forgot who he’d booked for this evening. Momentarily, his attention was averted.

“If you’ll excuse me, dearest.” He murmured before sliding past her, his hand briefly going to slide down the length of her forearm.   

Downing the champagne glass in his hand, he set it at the small, decorative bar near the main entryway before striding towards the populated lounge. 

Cayla unabashedly allowed her eyes to envision and detail the exact roundness of the man’s butt as he strode. Resisting the urge to join him, she allowed herself to stand near the entryway to survey whatever performance would unfold in the next few moments. 

The curtains lifted, and the audiences erupted into vibrant applause, ushering in the first few chords of the bass and drums. 

 

***** 

The night was a complete success, to Oswald’s great relief. Unlike most nights, he’d gotten himself just a little more than tipsy due to the overindulgent ambiance of his patrons. By the end of it all, he relied more on his cane than ever, his limp becoming secondary to his walking-sticks uses. 

As the clock signaled 2 am, the last few remaining patrons were ushered out into the night, their expectant drivers aiding them into their limos. 

Now entirely barren of customers, the Lounge was illuminated to the full extent, allowing for the cleaning process to begin. Oswald, Victor Zsasz, Butch Gilzean, and Edward Nygma sat at a corner booth, talking as friends while Oswald boasted of The Iceberg Lounge’s successes during that evening. Victor nursed a bottle of his favorite beer while Nygma had accepted a glass of a deep burgundy wine. Against all odds, Nygma, expected to be the rambunctious-drunk due to his already shy and quiet demeanor, actually became even more reserved while intoxicated, letting out a pitched laugh every now and again as though to remind his friends that he was still very much present mentally.  

Cayla was busy sweeping the front entryway, disposing of any garbage left behind from the wealthy patrons (God, did they always leave a mess of crumpled napkins and, occasionally, used condoms…). Her Boss’s table was the closest to the main entryway, so Oswald pretty much had the perfect viewing point to watch his favorite employee. Yes, despite promising his mother that favoritism wouldn’t ever be a factor in the care he dedicated to his employees, Cayla remained to be on his mind more often than not. 

“Sweetling, come here~!” Oswald crowed to the young hostess in the scarlet evening gown. She jumped up and turned, a slight blush emerging on her translucent complexion. 

“Yes, sir?” She asked politely, striding towards the table as he watched her every movement. 

“Get another beer for my friend? And a glass of wine for yourself.” Oswald requested as Victor conversed with Butch about a recent killing, Butch laughing like a madman in response. 

‘Yessir.” She replied moments before Oswald shoved a $50 bill into her palm. 

“You’ve earned it.” He murmured, having become more outward with his comments towards her. Cayla said nothing about the money, only that his contribution would greatly benefit the rent that was due for her apartment. 

Within moments she’d returned with Victor’s beer, but had neglected to get her own drink. 

Oswald had noticed. 

“Come here, Miss Marie, I’m tired of staring at these ugly mugs,” He mused while gesturing towards the unruly group, “I’d rather have something pretty to look at.” 

Ed suddenly sputtered out an unhinged laugh at the comment, his forehead planting itself against the mahogany table as he continued to tremble. Butch seemed rather disturbed at the sight, but Victor was too enamored with his new bottle to really take notice. 

Cayla was reluctant at first but complied to sitting next to her intoxicated superior as he continued to watch her. 

“So… tell me, Cayla,” Oswald said, composing himself almost completely. Cayla straightened. “what is it you do outside of working?” He inquired. 

“I… I’m a writer.” She stated calmly as Oswald handed her the bottled remainder of whatever he’d been drinking. She took it, and instead of grabbing a clean glass from the nearby cart of just-cleaned glasses, resigned to taking a full gulp of the beverage straight from the bottle. Oswald watched with intrigue as she took the alcohol without even flinching. He should’ve been worried about the ramifications of intoxicating a minor, but also knew that his money would get him away from the more severe disciplinary tactics of their beloved city’s legal department. 

“A writer, ey?” Oswald murmured just as his fingers chastely ran along the exposed flesh of her leg. Shivers ran up her spine at the accidental brush of his calloused fingertips. “What is it you write?” 

Cayla was a little unhinged now thanks to the excess of alcohol she continued to sip at, so decided then and there to be more than just brutally honest about her work. “Porn without plot,” she replied. “Smut, NSFW; shit to get people off, pretty much.” 

Her boss clearly hadn’t anticipated such a straightforward answer and sputtered against his glass as Nygma cackled in the background. 

“Interesting… I wouldn’t have expected that from someone of… your…” He allowed his voice to drift off. 

“‘Someone of my what’, sir?” She inquired as she watched him innocently. “Someone like me? Someone ‘Innocent’?”

An almost predatory haze seemed to intercept Oswald’s usually calm, reserved demeanor. Cayla was quite the type to play with fire and decided right then and there to use that to her advantage. How long would Oswald’s constrained persona last?  she wondered idly. 

“Why do you write about such… dark topics?” He prompted, “Why don’t you write about the stuff that good girls do? Like those… vampire romance novels?” 

“Do you think that’s all that us girls write about?” Cayla asked, finishing off the remainder of the bottle and feeling the world spin a tad. “After all, good girls are just the bad girls that are too smart to get caught.” 

Ah, there it was, that same animalistic fire burning just behind Oswald’s stare. His pupils dilated in the muted light of the vacant lounge. By now all that was needing to be done was locking up and securing the money in the safe. Cayla now was the youngest in the room; everyone else had gone home. 

He leaned forward, his lips less than a foot away from her ear. She almost expected him to bite or kiss her pale flesh, but instead, he spoke, his tone deep and threatening.

“Don’t think that just because my friends are here that I won’t punish you for your foul mouth.” He whispered, his voice wavering due to his drunken stupor. That statement sent a rush of heat flowing through Cayla’s body, only to accumulate at the space between her hips. 

Geez, she thought, it’d been awhile since she’d gotten laid by someone who knew what he was doing. Who would’ve thought that a few choice words would be enough to cause her nerves to suddenly triple in sensitivity? It was almost embarrassing.

It was either her drunkenness, or the slight puddle having begun to emerge against her panties, but deep down, she didn’t even feel slightly shameful for her next statement. 

“Oh, yea? Just what’re you gonna do, sir?” The alcohol provided her with enough courage to step far out of her anxious, little, introverted self. Sober, she wouldn’t even have been able to fantasize about this moment without blushing. 

Oswald pursed his already thin lips, his gaze having darkened. Cayla wondered briefly if she’d gone too far with her teasing. Fear and arousal stirred inside her. 

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with my employee,” Oswald stated, extending his hand as if to help Cayla from the tall seat. Instead, as soon as she’d gratefully took his seemingly well-intended reach, he abruptly clamped his palm over her wrist, half-pulling, half-dragging her deeper into The Iceberg Lounge. 

The rooms were all empty; devoid of any other employees who’d already clocked out and gone home. Cayla was at her Boss’s mercy, and that was when she remembered his street record. He stood among the highest ranking Crime Lords and Gang Leaders in all Gotham. He could easily kill her for attempting to embarrass him in front of his comrades and go without prison time for the act. 

But the fear now added to the heat of arousal still expanding between her legs. Stupid hormones; she could practically smell herself now as she walked.

“Where are you taking me?” She inquired innocently, attempting to pull away from his imposing grasp. He only held her tighter before pushing her against the wall they’d just passed. Her back hit the cold, ebony tile and she let out a squeak. 

“You know why I brought you here. You know exactly. Fucking. Why.” He growled as his face suddenly pressed into her neck, his hand now forcing hers against the prominent bulge of the front of his trousers. Cayla didn’t have time to react before his teeth nipping her flesh caused her to let out a pent up moan. Her hand clenched around  Oswald’s still concealed erection, which elicited a high-pitched whimper from the dark-haired man. 

His hands came up and ran down the front of the dress, unzipping the zipper beneath her right arm before allowing one of her breasts to come free from the ebony bra she wore beneath. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, huh? Little slut.” He growled as he stepped back to survey the younger girl’s prominent cleavage.  For a moment Cayla feared that Oswald was regretting his decision of taking advantage of her so, but his demeanor quickly changed as he unabashedly tore the dress from her shoulders and successfully managed to unclip her bra with only one hand. 

Against the cold air of the Iceberg Lounge, the piques of her breasts became pebbled, a soft gasp resonating from her lips as Oswald dove back against her, his hands and lips desperately searching for purchase against her soft, supple flesh. 

Cayla attempted to reciprocate the pleasure she was being inflicted, but Oswald smacked her hand away as she’d attempted to unfasten his belt. 

Looking deep into her eyes, his lips curved into a serpent-like grin. 

“You’re eager; I like it.” He whispered breathlessly as he pulled away to painstakingly tend to his straining appendage. Oswald was trying to hold back, it seemed as if to leave her desperate. She wasn’t the type to plead for affection, and instead would rather her superiors take what they pleased from her. 

Slowly, to Oswald’s great surprise, she began to wander towards another section of the lounge; this one dedicated to Pool and Cards more so than full course meals. Cayla strode into the chamber, unashamed of her immodesty. The sight nearly drove Oswald wild. In fact, it did. 

“How dare you, you little slut. You want me to be rough, don’t you?” He growled, his cock now fully in his hand as he gave it a much-needed jerk of his palm. He was a lot bigger than she thought he’d be and was all the more enthralled at the idea of him taking her so scandalously. Cayla turned to look at him with a wide, seductive grin, right before Oswald stormed towards her, spun her around to face him, before pushing her to sit against a pool table. He was atop her immediately, his hands pinning her smaller wrists against the soft, polished wood of the table. Before she could say anything, Oswald’s fingertips pushed aside the final shield against his prying gaze, and his cock was embedded inside of her to the base. 

He let out a deep, restrained moan as he threw his head back and panted out open-breathed gasps. Cayla was stretched so deliciously she could hardly stand him not moving inside of her. Thankfully, moments later, he’d proceeded to gyrate his hips against her, driving himself repetitively inside. The noises she made were so perfect against his ears, as were his to her. But above all, the wet sound of his hips smacking so obnoxiously against her thighs drove him nearly insane. 

“Take it like a good girl.” He began thrusting more forcefully, “Don’t resist.” 

Cayla had to resist the urge to cry out in complete ecstasy as his cock pressed perfectly against her g-spot with each thrust. 

“Are you gonna cum, filthy whore? Is that it? Are you gonna cum on my cock as I fuck you good and hard just like you deserve?” Oswald slurred.  

His fingernails scratched against her thighs and ass, creating five long, red welts against her alabaster flesh. He continued to rake his fingers against any and all flesh he could reach, marking her as his. She was his, she had been his. To use as he saw fit. There could be no other way. 

“Ye-- ahh!-- Yes, sir!” She cried out a little too loudly. But neither of them cared as Oswald proceeded to clench his greedy palms to her shoulders, staring deeply into her emerald eyes as she suddenly came undone, her inner walls clenching and unclenching wildly as he, too, found release. Before he came, he pulled out, instantly regretting having abandoned her warmth. It wasn’t even a second after that his cum sloshed against her red, swollen clit and steadily dredged down the curvature of her ass and, finally, onto the wood of the mahogany pool table. 

He hadn’t released that heavily in ages, and it was clear it’d been a long while since she’d had any sort of sexual encounters as of late. 

She laid against the green cloth of the table, entirely spent as she slowly crossed her legs until her modesty once more was concealed. 

A pile of satin cloth suddenly was piled over her, and she was only too grateful to see that it had been her dress and bra having been so cruelly abandoned earlier. 

“Until another night?” Oswald whispered, his lips grazing against hers as he once more stared deeply into her very soul. 

“Another night.” She nodded meekly, the spell having been broken, and her wary, anxious persona having been restored. Oswald smiled and allowed his fingertips to give one of the ringlets of her auburn hair a gentle caress. 

 

*****

~End 


End file.
